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The task Ballsack gave me on the way over is a useful distraction, but there’s a nervousness there, too. I’ve only caught a couple glimpses of Regina, and the last time I saw her, she wastwitching over by the front door, never really stepping into the fray.

This is important—something I can do to help Stella—and I don’t want to mess it up. I want to be out there, searching. I could have gone to talk to those Boy Scouts who found her. I could be bursting into Maddox’s crypt right now, demanding to speak to the new Baroness. No one would hurt a woman who’s eight months pregnant.

Probably.

Right?

I hide my distress by taking a bite of a chicken salad sandwich, making a futile attempt to read Adeline’s lips as she whispers something that makes my mother smirk.

“Fucking weird, right?” I spin and see the Duchess—Lavinia Lucia—making a neat pile of cheese on her plate. Her chin lifts to Mama and the others. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

“I have no clue.” I eye the room warily. “It’s like a vault of Forsyth’s secrets over there. They could probably bring this whole town to its knees if they conspired together.” Yet, they don’t. Looking around the room, I think I understand why. “I keep waiting for someone to whip out a curling iron and start a brawl.”

“Please,” she snorts. “As if those Princess wannabes would dare break a nail.”

“They’re tougher than you think.” My attention falls on Heather, who showed up with two fake things: a smile and a tan. “And probably have more in common than you realize. I saw Adeline’s weapons basket when I came in. It was full.”

Lavinia’s forehead lifts, considering, but doesn’t look convinced. And that’s why the women of Forsyth have never banded together. Someone felt the need to bring a switchblade to a baby shower, for Pete’s sake.

Mistrust runs as deep as the Baron’s crypt.

“So you finally talked to him?” Lakshmi’s voice carries across the room. She, Heather, and Gina are huddled together, just like the first time I met them.

“I’d avoided him for weeks, but last night, he showed up when I was getting out of my date’s car.” A smile tugs at Heather’s painted lips. “At first, I thought he was coming for me, but you know what he did? He went to the driver’s side, dragged my date out, and punched the daylights out of him.”

“Are you serious?” Gina gasps. The cutsluts perk up at the conversation, not-so-subtly leaning in. “He got in afight? Tommy?!”

Heather nods. “He took a few punches, and I had to threaten to call campus security to break it up, but Tommy got one last punch in, told him to ‘stay the fuck away from my girl’, and ended it.”

“Holy shit. Was this the LDZ?” Lakshmi asks, glancing over at Story.

Story sighs. “Oh god. Which one is it now?”

“Tucker,” Heather replies. “You know him?”

“Oh, do I ever.” She rolls her eyes. “Self-proclaimed South Side fuckboy. He has a thing for girls he perceives to be off-limits, including yours truly when I first arrived. He’s probably run through everyone in the territory, so he decided to hit up East End.”

“Ungrateful prick,” Mrs. Crane mutters. “Hope your princey poodle boy tore him a new one.”

“He did,” Heather says, eyes going dreamy. “We’re back together.”

Mrs. Crane gives Heather a sour look. “For beating up a frilly frat boy? He better have gotten on his knees afterward and licked your pussy like a waffle cone.”

Adeline gasps, but my mother just snorts, lifting her teacup in agreement. “Hear, hear.”

“Tucker was just a rebound anyway.” Again, Heather’s lips curve. “I guess Tommy didn’t know that.”

The girls hover around and listen as she describes the altercation and the following grovel—minus the pussy-licking, much to Mrs. Crane’s disappointment. I don’t deny that I feel a smug sense of satisfaction that my advice to Tommy worked.

Maybe there are better ways to run East End than dungeons and bamboo shards under the fingernails.

Heather gushes, “I never realized how hot it would be for a guy to fight for me—literally!” She glances at the cutsluts. “You girls might be on to something.”

“Of course we are,” Maggie says. “A man all pumped up post-fight, high on victory and adrenaline? Best sex ever.”

My mind goes to Wick taking me in the mausoleum.

She’s not wrong.